


A Kiss To Build a Dream On

by kakaitalover



Series: Dreams [1]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: First Kiss, Graphic Dirty Talk, Kissing, M/M, Pwnage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakaitalover/pseuds/kakaitalover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wasn't sure what he'd been thinking when he'd pulled Dresden into the kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss To Build a Dream On

**Author's Note:**

> [A Kiss to Build a Dream On](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHjZQb-kGek&spfreload=10%20Message%3A%20Unexpected%20end%20of%20input%20\(url%3A%20http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DfHjZQb-kGek\)) is by Louis Armstrong. In case anyone _at all_ was wondering.

John wasn't sure what he'd been thinking when he'd pulled Dresden into the kiss. He should have stuck with the impersonal brush of mouths he'd used for most of the other delegates or the slightly more intimate press of lips he'd granted his closer and more public allies, and he knew he'd be hearing about this from Hendricks when the man found out, but his impulse control always took a dive whenever the tall, gangly wizard was involved. Here was the opportunity to get a sample of something he'd wanted for years, and he'd jumped at it, planning to enjoy a taste of the forbidden and maybe (a very slim chance, admittedly) show the prickly magic-user that being mastered could be quite pleasant sometimes. So he'd grasped the man's worn, stubbled face in his hands and guided warm lips into as sensual a kiss as he thought he could get away with.

He'd expected shock, anger, possibly violence. Even in his best case scenario (the realistic one, not the ridiculous fantasy he'd involuntarily flashed to, as usual, and immediately stomped on, as usual), he'd expected Dresden to submit to the necessity of the gesture, glaring intensely all the while at John's taking advantage of said necessity. Given the man had been late as was his wont and had therefore missed the introductions and didn't know to expect the move, it was far more likely he'd stop dead in surprise and confusion, then pull away in furious disgust, probably sputtering. And the former at least was exactly the reaction John received, for about ten gloriously shocked seconds. Really, he should have known better – when did meetings with Dresden ever conform to his expectations?

Still, he hadn't seen this coming.

When he felt the ankle sweep he resigned himself to the “violence” scenario and began twisting to land in a defensible position. The arms that came about his waist and shoulders to stabilize him in a dip were a surprise. So was the sudden brutality from formerly pliant lips. John clutched at leather-clad shoulders for a moment while he fought to regain equilibrium, only to be hauled up closer to the other man's lanky form until he was barely brushing the ground with his toes. It was an impressive display of strength, as John was no lightweight, but John was a little more focused on the surprising new knowledge that holy _crap_ , Harry Dresden could _kiss_. Sharp nibbles alternated with bruising suction and delicate swipes of tongue against his lips, while clever fingers on the hand at his shoulders explored his nape, caressing enticingly when they found That Spot that always made him shiver and gasp. The arm supporting his waist held him almost entirely off the ground, so that his only option to steady himself was to wrap his own leg around the one that had pressed between his thighs until it just barely brushed John's sac. The harsh grip on his hip only added to the appeal, sweet counterpoint to the titillating strokes against his neck and tantalizing near-touches at his groin. He could smell smoke and ash and sweat and books, along with pizza, male arousal and a singular aroma that was purely Harry. Hot breath fanned across his cheek, stubble rasped over his face, and he melted gladly as the playfully darting tongue finally pressed inside his eagerly waiting mouth.

Then the hand at his hip shifted, and he was hauled up by his ass and pinned firmly against a lanky side. John arched and squirmed, torn between thrusting forward into the solid length of the man and rocking back onto the long fingers teasing his cleft as they kneaded his ass. He was dimly aware that he was quietly whimpering and mewling, but it seemed phenomenally less important than the deep, almost inaudible moan he elicited as he suckled desperately on the tongue fucking his mouth. He gripped Harry's neck and head, running his hands roughly through shaggy hair that he'd idly daydreamed about for years – fuck, he'd never been so turned on in his life, when had his eyes closed? He wrenched them open, not wanting to miss a single expression on his wizard's face now that he finally, finally had him here...

He heard a furious snarl almost the same moment he was wrenched away and plunked onto the polished stone table. Hendricks had a dazed, confused-looking wizard by the throat the next instant, and John was abruptly reminded that other people existed, and that furthermore, this was a meeting, and he was surrounded by extremely powerful beings who had just seen him with his guard down, rutting against Harry Dresden as desperately and shamelessly as an animal in heat. Fuck. And Hendricks had returned unexpectedly soon and seen this as well, and was now strangling the local representative of the White Council, who happened to be John's own long-time obsession, and also a fantastically good kisser. Double fuck. No, _triple_ fuck, actually.

Alright, since neither sinking into the earth nor spontaneously combusting appeared to be viable options, it was time to control the damage.

Killing everyone present would be difficult and have inconvenient consequences, so that was out, no matter how appealing the idea seemed at the moment. However, if he seemed largely unaffected the kiss might, just possibly, be taken as a mere declaration of strong alliance, given the custom that had triggered it. _Very_ strong alliance. Ahem. Right. To that end he crossed his legs, smoothed his face, relaxed his body into an attitude of calm confidence, and kept his voice and breathing controlled and even as he proceeded with step two: get his enraged best friend off the wizard before relations with both the Council and Chicago's best magical defender went down the drain, or the wizard came to his senses long enough to use his rings at lethal range. It took a moment for Nathan to notice John calling him, but he did reluctantly put the now-gasping Warden down in the chair John indicated while John himself made sounds about not killing allies and misunderstandings and amends. Harry fortunately seemed more focused on his breathing than John's words, as he didn't protest being called a close ally, and merely grunted between wheezes in response to John's apology.

The meeting progressed more or less smoothly from there, with the exception of the oddly shuttered, almost thoughtful looks Dresden kept directing at him, and John's own difficulty keeping a flush off his face and his mind on the discussion rather than what the hell Dresden had been doing, kissing him like that ... what else he might have done, if they hadn't been interrupted … whether he might be willing to continue if John could get him alone... The tangible weight of Nathan's regard from behind him didn't help with either of those tasks, but he managed, even if he had to keep his legs crossed for the duration.

So of course Dresden had to ruin all his hard work by approaching him after most of the other delegates had escaped and just before he could manage the same.

“'Allies'?” the man demanded in a strangely neutral tone. So he had been paying attention after all, and simply chosen by some miracle not to immediately and openly contradict John. Or he hadn't noticed until some time afterward, when the opportunity for protest had passed.

“It seemed the most reasonable explanation,” John answered mildly, deliberately uninformative. After all, Dresden was the one who had intensified the kiss. John wanted to know why. He'd been almost sure at the time that Dresden wouldn't know about the implications, but now he was less certain. _Had_ it been a declaration of alliance? Or of … something else? For that matter, from the cold standpoint of rationality it seemed far too likely that it was a mere continuation of their endless game of one-upmanship, in which case John had blown his hand entirely over nothing.

“Reasona- what the – _what does reason have to do with it?_ ”

“Well, that was quite a kiss, Harry.”

“Don't call me that. And _you_ kissed _me_. Which, what the fuck was that about?” Definitely not aware of the implications, then. And yet, the man was watching John closely, with an unfamiliar intensity John couldn't quite place. What was he looking for?

“Several of the beings here today interacted or interact with the original Mafia families, and insisted on its insertion into the meeting's etiquette. The kiss was a variation of an old tradition among several of the Famiglias – the pertinent meaning in this case being an open show of trust and support. Of alliance. As far as you pressed things, I expect most of them think us all but sworn brothers – or married.” That should distract him nicely from how far John had taken things first.

“I – wha – you – _brothers?_ Wait, _married_ , what – ?” Yes, there he went. John basked for a moment in the sputtering. The wizard was appallingly cute when he was flustered, and John was only too willing to put off Nathan's upcoming interrogation by playing with him for a while. As long as he was talking quietly with Dresden and there was no hint of forthcoming violence Nathan would keep his distance, lurking impatiently with Gard just out of earshot. He could happily do this for hours.

Except Dresden had clearly not gotten today's script, because he focused abruptly, intense and unsettlingly inscrutable once more.

“It was politics, then. The kiss. You were just making a point.” Was that skepticism? Relief? Entreaty? Normally Dresden's face was an open book, but every so often he went bafflingly, infuriatingly blank. Clearly this was important to him, but what did he want John to say?

John considered his options swiftly and carefully, then –

“Of course.”

– lied. His reaction to the kiss had admittedly been rather revealing, but as good a kisser as Dresden was it wouldn't be unreasonable to attribute it to purely physical stimulus response. Better to preserve the status quo than risk making an enemy of this man. Some unknown emotion skittered across Dresden's face too quickly to be identified, and then his eyes narrowed – first in calculation, then in disgust. _Damn it_. Of all the times for him exhibit his infrequent but annoying bouts of uncanny perceptiveness, he chose now? John braced himself for unpleasantness upon the appearance of the sweet expression that always heralded Dresden's most vicious words.

“That's too bad –” what? “ – because the noises you make when you're being kissed and the way you wriggle can really give a guy ideas. I've spent most of this meeting trying to decide whether or not to ask if you wanted to pick up where things left off once we were alone in here. I'd kind of like to see how you'd squirm if I bent you naked over that table right there, and hear you gasp at the cold of the stone on your nipples and cock and the heat of me at your back. I'd have liked to whisper obscenities in your ear and listen to you moan. I wanted to spread you wide with my fingers, then hold you open like that for _hours_ while I teased you with the very tip of my dick until you were positively _shaking_ with need, maybe even begging for me to give you more, give you every inch of me. I bet you'd be beautiful, wrecked like that.” It was a miracle that John managed to keep his ass off the floor – as it was his breathing had stopped dead, his jaw had dropped a little before he could catch it, and he was sure his eyes rivaled dinner plates for size. This couldn't possibly be the same man who blushed furiously at the mere mention – hell, the _thought_ of what happened around John's office at Executive Priority. Yet Gard had checked extensively for magical impersonation before he ever came within line-of-sight, let alone arm's reach.

“But of course, you're not interested, so I'll just toddle off. I wouldn't like to go throwing myself at someone who doesn't want it. Sorry about that. Must've misread you completely. See you around, John.” And with those words the complete evil bastard walked off and left John alone with his rapidly approaching and deeply disappointed best-friend-cum-bodyguard, his millenia-old magical consultant, and a painful hard-on he knew wouldn't be fading any time soon.

“Of course,” came a smugly amused drawl right before the door swung shut, “if you ever change your mind, I might _consider_ being persuaded to take a second look into the subject. Maybe. You know how to reach me.”

John would never confess that while Nathan dragged him off for a revival of the Spanish Inquisition he barely heard the questions regarding what had happened, why, and what the hell was he thinking, kissing Dresden like that – _Dresden_ of all people? Nor was he as concerned as he should have been that he hadn't managed yet to come up with better responses than 'I don't know' – Nathan would not be impressed. John didn't even pay any mind to the not-quite-concealed twinkle in his supernaturally sharp-eared consultant's eyes. There were other things on his mind – he had a courtship to strategize.


End file.
